


Melting Frost

by madame_le_maire



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Baking, Christmas Fluff, Kissing, M/M, Valjean's Cosette feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-29
Updated: 2013-12-29
Packaged: 2018-01-06 15:20:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1108422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madame_le_maire/pseuds/madame_le_maire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Valjean does baking. Feels happen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Melting Frost

**Author's Note:**

> Written for an anonymous prompt which asked for Valjean and Javert baking together. Hope you enjoy it, anon!
> 
> Thanks to Carmarthen for beta and being patient with my fail :)

After a long and rainy autumn, the hours of her studies growing tedious and lengthy, it had been the beginning of winter that put the gleam back into Cosette’s eyes. Following the first fall of snow, Valjean could not escape a visit to the market to purchase butter, sugar and flour. 

_Will we make biscuits again, Papa?_ , had been the ritual question every year, with a never-changing answer: _Yes, my dear._

There was no Cosette with him this year. Only her happy letters and the knowledge that he had given her into good hands. The boy was a dolt, of course, but it could not be helped. Oh, they had invited Valjean to Christmas dinner, and he would go and see his darling radiating with joy; yet it would not be the same as the years before, with only the two of them after Fauchelevent had passed away. Then he had been able to enjoy the weeks during which anticipation built hopes to culminate on Christmas day.

Valjean bought the ingredients, still. There would be a bittersweet quality to the familiar scents, but perhaps they would brighten memories and make him feel less alone in that house. 

He had the bags and packets spread out on the kitchen table and had begun to mix the dough like he had done for years, smiling ruefully at the absence of little hands eager to help – occasionally disrupting more than aiding, yet never allowing the task to become tedious. Then a little noise made him look up. 

Javert was leaning against the other side of the table, warming his hands on a mug. He must have come into the room quietly, for Valjean had not noticed him until that moment. He waited for Javert to speak, but he did not, only looking at Valjean in silence. His look was almost guilty, as if he were intruding on a ritual. Perhaps he had noticed the sadness pressing down on Valjean that day; there seemed to be a question in his eyes, too delicate to speak. Valjean contented himself with the quiet, gave Javert a mute smile – _it is all right, just the past_ – and saw him return it with hesitation, before turning back to the dough. 

Vanilla had been Cosette’s favourite flavour and he had bought it, year after year, even though it cost dear – yet he would not deny her anything, not when it made her eyes light up so. 

The dough stuck against his spoon, still floury instead of smooth. Perhaps he had added too much flour in his distraction, or the butter was too cold... Cosette had always looked out for the recipe. Reading gave her pleasure, any reading. She would flip through the recipe book, staining it with her sticky fingers, but whenever his attentions had strayed from the recipe, she would look up and point him, laughing, towards the right ingredient or a step he had confused. 

He strained against the spoon, trying to gain the upper hand over the sticky mass of dough —

A clatter echoed through the room, catching Valjean’s attention. He turned. Javert had set his mug down on the table and was almost outright staring at him with a strange look in his eyes. Valjean took a step back. He must look utterly disheveled, he realized: his sleeves were rolled up, his hair mussed, flour everywhere… he looked away, flustered. 

Valjean felt but a soft touch against his cheek as a warning before Javert caught his mouth with his, kissing him hungrily; he felt a hand sliding into his hair, nails dragging across his scalp. Javert stepped closer, and Valjean felt the table digging into his back. He shuddered, caught up in the slide of Javert’s lips against his, and fisted his hand helplessly in Javert’s shirt.

Javert drew back slowly, a faint blush creeping up his neck. Valjean felt himself redden as well, and glanced away with a small smile. He breathed out, trying to collect his thoughts, while Javert reached towards the table. When he looked up again, Javert was licking at his fingers, which were sticky with dough. He paused, looking into the distance and at Valjean again, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards. 

“Missing a little sugar, is it not?”


End file.
